


Will You Still Love Me

by blue_jack



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot, Romance, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He never knew how much he wanted to be that . . . <i>center</i> for someone before, didn’t know until it was given to him so unstintingly by this bright, beautiful man.  For canis_takahari’s prompt of sex toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Still Love Me

It's all there in his eyes, in the way he looks at Bones as he fumbles to locate the dildo, difficult to do when his arms are bound together behind his back and he can't see the damn thing underneath him. Jim doesn't say anything, doesn't chide him about taking too long, doesn't mock him when he stumbles, almost knocking the chair over, barely managing to catch himself, and it's more like a miracle that he doesn't end up ass over teakettle on the ground than any grace on his part. Jim just watches, takes in the way Bones' chest hitches with each breath of air, the weights on his nipples sending tiny shocks down to his cock, the way his legs flex as he lowers himself, head and shoulders scraping against the wall, until he finds the dildo with his fingers and arranges himself until he can feel the tip brushing his ass.

With his legs on either side of the chair, Bones is completely on display, and there's no hiding how much the thought of fucking himself for Jim's pleasure is utterly and totally turning him on, cock red and stiff against his stomach. Part of it is just being restrained. Jim knows how much that gets to him, being able to struggle as much as he wants but not being able to do a single thing about it, knows how it makes him feel. Part of it is the fact that he's basically _offering_ himself to Jim, chest up and out, nipples caught in the clamps like cherries, swollen and begging to be licked, hips tilted so he can impale himself on the monster Jim showed him before attaching it to the chair. It's one thing to be "forced' to do what Jim wants, strong hands maneuvering him, trapping him until he can finally surrender. It's something else entirely, however, when the only thing pushing him is the words, "Please, Bones."

 _Please, Bones_ , like there's any way he could ever say no to Jim and mean it.

Most of the reason for his excitement, however, is just this: Jim watching him, eyes dark and appreciative, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his arms on his thighs as if to get that tiny bit closer, looking at him like he's the only thing in the room, on the ship, in the whole _universe_ that matters. It's a truly heady thing to be the focus of Jim's undivided attention. How can he not respond when Jim looks at him like that?

Bones takes a deep breath through his nose, grateful for the rubber gag in his mouth in a way that he wonders if Jim understands even better than he does himself. Because he can't say anything with it, can't object or curse or rail, can't try to talk his way out of doing this or push for more time. Jim has always been the smooth talker, but Bones depends on his words just as much, to intimidate and get his way, and Jim has taken that crutch from him. It's just do or don't do right now, and he has to decide soon because he can already feel the soreness growing in his legs as the lactic acid builds up.

 _Please, Bones_.

He takes another deep breath and uses his fingers to clumsily pull one cheek to the side, spreading himself a little bit more to make it slightly easier.

He shivers as he presses against the dildo, blunt and thick, attempts to relax his muscles, but he's so nervous, so excited, Jim's gaze like blue fire, that it takes him a while before he can get himself to move down further. When he finally does, his breath leaves him with a high moan, his flesh parting, burning as the dildo breaches him, head tilted back against the wall as he slips down that first agonizing centimeter. It feels so big, so _big_ , and that's the smallest part. He doesn't know if he can do this. His chest heaves, causing the weights to swing gently, and there's another moan, another centimeter inside of him, pain and pleasure a confusing jumble of sensation.

_Please, Bones._

His jaw tenses around the gag as he bears down on the dildo, head swimming as he manages to accommodate more of its length, legs starting to tremble. It feels massive, and he's stretched so wide, so open, and even for Jim, he doesn't know if he can—

Bones eyes snap open, he can't believe he's let them close, and he looks frantically for Jim. It's stupid, he doesn't know what he expected, _knows_ that Jim would never leave him in the middle of something like this, but he can't stop the flood of relief when he sees him there, still on the bed, although now his hands are on his knees, fingers digging into his legs, and his mouth is open, tongue darting out wetly. And his eyes, fuck, his eyes . . .

It makes it, not easy, no, he thinks with an almost laugh, not easy, but not as hard to take another few centimeters, and his isn’t the only groan in the room. The sound of Jim’s arousal makes his cock bounce against his stomach, makes the shudder this time more pleasure than pain.

Still, he has to take several deep breaths before he can continue, loses ground actually as he has to shift up in order to relive some of the tension on his thighs, but that—fuck—he moans again and lets gravity take him back down. The dildo is so immense that it's not pleasure exactly, too intense, too _there_ for it to feel good per se, but . . . he swallows and moves up once again, his fingers spreading his cheeks even further.

"Bones, Bones," and this time, he's not hearing it in his head, Jim somehow across the room and kneeling in front of him, and damn it, he's closed his eyes again, even though he promised himself he wouldn't, not wanting to miss even one second of Jim looking at him like— "Bones."

And he freezes, not even breathing as Jim slips his hand between Bones' legs, as he traces the burning skin, taut around the dildo, and Bones can't even begin to describe what that feels like, what that does to him, and it's only pleasure then, thick and fluid as it pulses through him. And when Jim presses sure fingers into his perineum and against his prostate, it transforms into something even more than that.

He doesn't recognize the sound that comes out of his throat as he slides all the way down until he's seated fully on the chair, every muscle tense, can't breathe, can't think, can barely keep his eyes open, but he has to, he _has_ to, because Jim is, fuck, Jim is—

“ _Bones_.”

He doesn’t understand how just the sound of his name can bring tears to his eyes, and he blinks them back, staring, just staring at Jim whose voice is awestruck, worshipful, and he can’t—he can’t take it anymore, so full, both heart and body. He’s trapped on the chair, his thighs still shaking from keeping him up in such an awkward position for so long, can’t talk, can barely breathe, but he begs, begs Jim with each roll of his hips, the thickness rubbing against his prostate until he jerks and whines, begs with the curve of his chest as he pushes it forward, nipples throbbing, aching for more touch, for more _Jim_.

And Jim gives in, submits to Bones’ desire like he can’t help himself, and he reaches out and grips Bones’ cock just shy of too hard, not hard enough, and he knows every trick to make Bones a wreck of his former self, to have him dance and writhe on the chair as he groans as loud as he wants because the gag keeps it all in. It’s all pleasure now, that amazing toy rocking in and out of him as his hips spasm, Jim watching every twist and change of expression from his position at Bones’ feet, looking like he can’t bear to turn away, and it’s filthy and somehow reverential. The pleasure spirals upwards until Bones finally has to close his eyes, arms straining against the bonds, body thrashing, because it’s too much, _too much_ , but he keeps the look in Jim’s eyes, takes it into the darkness with him.

He never knew how much he wanted to be that . . . _center_ for someone before, didn’t know until it was given to him so unstintingly by this bright, beautiful man, and he can see it, all there, the love and the lust, his face reflected back at him through Jim’s gaze, and it fills all the dusty and used corners inside of him until there’s only light.

And Jim. Always Jim.


End file.
